


Ravaged Blessings

by TearsOfTime0086



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Time Skip, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 10:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20095660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearsOfTime0086/pseuds/TearsOfTime0086
Summary: A battle gone wrong leaves Byleth in the infirmary and Dimitri haunted by a new ghost. In a desperate attempt at solace, the King of Lions turns to white magic.Set towards the start of Part II.





	Ravaged Blessings

“Dimitri! We must retreat!”

“Flee if you wish! I still have _ monsters _ to kill.”

“We must retreat _ now _! The emperor has reinforcements on the way, and they’re bringing Demonic Beasts along with them!”

“Let go of me.”

“Dimitri, please…”

“Let go!”

A push. A roar. The battlefield becomes soaked in red, and he feasts in it.

When the bloodlust subsides, he sees Byleth on the ground, floating in the midst of the decapitated Demonic Beast’s entrails.

When she is taken away from him, he still remembers the same blood caking both their hands.

* * *

They do not let him into the infirmary. It is understandable. The infirmary is a place for the sick. A beast like him would destroy everything.

The dead find their own way to whisper to him.

She joins the rest of the ghosts that night, hauntingly illuminated amidst their tormented forms. She does not speak. His father lambasts, his stepmother grieves, but the professor remains motionless. Watching his every move, his every plea.

As those blank eyes stare at him, Dimitri forcefully reminds himself that she is still alive. Paying for her foolish attempts at interference. In a few days, the infirmary will finish their work. She will stumble out with a painful reminder of her mistakes. Perhaps finally distance herself from him. 

Her haunt will not last, he reminds himself through the inexorable night.

* * *

The first one to address him is Ingrid. Always too proud and idealistic for her own good. While the other soldiers naturally part for him, she stops him outside the dining hall.

“What is the meaning of this, Your Highness?” When he attempts to push past, she refuses to budge. “Is it true that you- you…”

“Believe what you will. Now get out of my way.”

Ingrid’s entire body bristles. “Are you letting this happen again? After everything back home? After Glenn?”

“Hah! As if you know anything about Glenn!”

“Your Highness-”

“He speaks to me, and me alone. Every night, with lips burning in flame. He will not rest until I have that woman’s head.”

He tries to leave once again, but Ingrid now stretches out her arms in defiance. “And that makes it right for our professor to get hurt? I understand your hatred, I really do- but you can’t keep striking out against our friends!”

“Friends? You’re all nothing but inconveniences.”

“Is that all our professor is to you? Your Highness, you _ adored _ her. Professor Byleth did so much for us - for you. Is she really worth less than those who have already passed?”

“That’s enough!” he barks, and Ingrid’s arms sink back down. There’s a sudden murmur in the dining hall, but he takes no heed. “Do not talk as though you understand. Every one of you, blissfully ignorant in your comfortable lives! The dead cannot avenge themselves. I must fulfill their last desires.”

A single push, and Ingrid is slammed against the wall. Underneath her ideals is a fragile human, weak as any rat crushed in his palm. The path to the monastery bridge is completely empty now - only a few paralyzed soldiers linger around the corners.

“If you wish to keep your appendages intact, you will not cross my path again.”

He expects Ingrid to cower in fear. Look away. But even collapsed against the wall, her eyes fiercely defy his very being.

Those eyes follow his every footstep to the cathedral.

* * *

On the second night, her ghost finally speaks to him. Despite his stepmother’s wails, Byleth’s whispers travel straight into his pounding ears.

_ Dimitri. Why, Dimitri? _

“I… I warned you!” His voice is rough and grating. She does not flinch. “You should have never gotten close to me. You…!”

_ Is it so wrong for me to help my student? I miss you. _

“Your innocent little _ student _is dead!” he growls, “I walk only to have my revenge. Stop trying to… stop…”

_ I miss you, Dimitri. I miss the old you. _

“No more! I won’t have another word out of you! Not you too…”

_ Kill her, my son. It is the only way you can save us. _

He turns abruptly. “Father!” Kill… Edelgard. Yes, Edelgard was the one who deserved to die. He’d eviscerate her, and then finally burn away himself. Bring hellfire upon her corpse before accepting its eternal silence.

But the flames in his nightmare burn not him, not Edelgard, but her.

“Professor!” The scream wrenched from his throat is unearthly, but Byleth’s facial expression does not change. The flames engulf her coat and hair, but her unblinking eyes are only clouded in sadness. The voices around her all screech in pain, but her words still sting the most.

_ I miss you… _

* * *

“Dimitri! You blasted fool… Dimitri!”

His body stumbles towards the pile of rubble before he ricochets back by sheer force of will. The flames around him are completely gone, leaving behind the desolate cathedral of Garreg Mach. It’s still dark out, with only owl eyes illuminating the dense clouds above. A screech reverberates across the ceiling, and Dimitri can’t tell if it’s a bird or person wailing above.

Felix stands before him, eyes simmering with anger. His hand floats above his sword, poised to draw it at any second. It quickly snaps him back to the present, and the screams fade away into the distance.

“Do I have your attention now, boar prince?” he snaps. Despite the height difference, Felix stands proud, bristling underneath Dimitri’s looming shadow.

“Why are you here?” he retaliates back, eyeing Felix’s every move. As lithe and strong as the swordsman may be, he’d be crushed in an instant. As long as Dimitri got the first move, he’d win.

“Does the beast think I’d come here willingly?”

“If you weren’t weighed down by pathetic sentiment, you’d know not to show your face at all!”

Felix glares with glowering eyes, before he suddenly pulls back. It leaves Dimitri surprised as well. “Tell that to our professor, then,” he mutters.

“Our… what does she have to do with this?” Dimitri tries to push down the feeling of unease amassing in him. 

“She wanted to see you. Infirmary’s saying within three days. She… doesn’t have long.”

Three… days?

“What do you mean? Doesn’t have long- what nonsense is this?”

Felix shakes his head. The hand over his blade now covers his forehead. “She told me to find you here. She would’ve come over herself, but Professor Manuela won’t allow it. Knowing you, I told her not to get her hopes up.”

“Answer the question, Felix,” he grits, “Why three days?”

“She’s lost a lot of blood, and her body’s too weak to fight off the Demonic Beast infection. Apparently, the bishops have never seen anything like it. Three days was their estimate.”

There was no way. She’d been through so much - Solon’s curse, the storming of the monastery… why would _ this _of all things do it? How could a single Demonic Beast, of which they’d faced countless before, be enough to kill her?

Because, a part of him reminds him, it wasn’t the Demonic Beast. It was _ him _. His grotesque strength, the madness of his joyful mauling. He’d torn her apart, just like any other lance or spear unfortunate enough to be near him for long.

She offered him a hand, and he crushed it.

Felix stares at him intently, before shrugging and turning away. “I’ve said all I needed to say. It’s up to you now, boar prince.” A few clicks of his dueling shoes, and he’s already far away, leaving Dimitri alone in front of the wreckage. 

“She always hated it when I called you that,” Felix says, back towards him, “But it looks like I was right. You monster.”

* * *

When Dimitri barges into Hanneman’s room, not one, but two mages lose their footing. Hanneman manages to find a shelf to cling onto, while Annette has no such luck. 

“Have we not a single competent healer in this monastery?!” he roars, ignoring Annette’s rapid attempt at fixing the rolling ladder. It’s early in the morning, and the empty hallways ring with the echoes of his ravaged voice. No one else awake to hear him - or perhaps they had fled before his approach.

Professor Hanneman meets him with surprisingly cold eyes. “I see news of the professor has spread.”

Lips draw up into a grimace. The teeth draw forth old wounds, spurting blood beneath. “This beast still has its wits. Unlike the other fools here at Garreg Mach.”

“And were those wits present when our professor was injured?”

“She should have never interfered. She knew the consequences of getting in my way.”

“Then why are you here, Dimitri?”

Annette takes this as her chance to intervene, waving a book wildly between the two. “Please, Your Highness. Professor. I’ve found what we needed.”

It leaves the room paused in a stony silence. Dimitri broods in the doorway, while Hanneman quickly scans through the book’s crinkled pages. It’s an old book, with comparatively poor preservation, Dimitri notes.

“We’ve been looking through the old white magic records to try and help Professor Byleth,” Annette hastily explains, twirling her hair with tense fingers. “I think this book might be our best shot.”

“_Methods of Demonic Purging and Purification,” _Hanneman reads. With every line, his brow furrows more and more. “This does seem promising, but…”

“But what.” All eyes in the room are fixated on him. Two strides into the room and he can read the book’s text. Thousands of words are squeezed onto a single sheet, with the singular diagram covered in subtitles. Hanneman does not pull away.

“It’ll take quite some time to sort through the excess here. That’s not including the time needed to learn the spells themselves. I don’t know if Manuela or anyone from the infirmary can afford to focus on this for so long. We have too many injured to take care of.”

“Could no one else at the monastery help, Professor? I can dedicate some time to it, and I’m sure if I asked Mercie…”

“You two are equally busy, aren’t you? With the restorations happening, I don’t think there’s anyone available for this...”

“I’ll do it.”

Annette blinks. “Your Highness…”

He himself doesn’t understand why he blurts that out. It’s been five years since he’d even attempted a spell- and while the professor had taught him enough to heal, it’d be nothing compared to the ancient techniques required to save her now.

And could he- a beast, a demon who destroyed everything he touched, really help her?

Hanneman strokes his beard. “I suppose you are the only one who could truly dedicate time to this… Though your decision has surprised me.”

A scoff ruins the mood of sympathy in the room. “I simply reached the same conclusion as you. It’d be a shame to lose your most valuable asset. You’d all be in a wreck, and even more likely to impede my mission if she were to die.”

“I can help too, Your Highness! If you need any pointers on the spells, Mercie and I can definitely assist you.” His frozen stare causes Annette’s voice to meander a little. In no time at all, though, she’s shaken it off. “We all want to help our professor. We really do. So if there’s anything we can do for you, please, let us know.”

Dimitri simply grabs the book and leaves back towards the cathedral, if only to calm the raging storm of emotions from her words.

* * *

“Damn this blasted…”

“Now, Dimitri! It’s alright.” Mercedes laughs innocently amidst his fury. “Spells backfire all the time.”

He utters another few choice words. The first day of reading had taught him nothing. In desperation, he’d gone to Mercedes for help. And now, it seemed like this wasn’t working either.

“It seems like they wrote down this incantation incorrectly,” Mercedes notes, skimming through the pages, “I wonder if that’s why it was shelved in the first place?”

“Idiots. All of them.”

“It’s just a typo. Anyone could have made this mistake. Things don’t always work out perfectly, after all! Like the time I almost hit you with that sword.”

Mercedes almost surely threw that out as a passing thought, but Dimitri can’t help but think on it.

“Though, these typos aren’t very helpful in a situation like this…”

“Mercedes.”

She looks up, veil shimmering. “Yes?”

“How… how would you do this spell?”

“Oh. You’re asking me?”

Dimitri looks away. “If these incompetent authors can’t do their job right, I might as well learn from a physical demonstration.”

Mercedes’ face instantly brightens. It helps his frustration subside a bit. “Oh, of course! I’d love to help teach you this. I believe that this is actually a variation of the modern heal spell…”

* * *

“So, Your Highness, learning some white magic?”

Dimitri scowls, quickly hiding his palm back into his cloak. He should’ve known the rumors would spread. It was foolish to practice somewhere so out in the open. Sylvain’s confident smirk is enough to tell him that the whole monastery is now in on it.

“Hey, no need to stop! It looked like a pretty strong pulse.”

“Go away, Sylvain.”

To his surprise, Sylvain responds with a solemn nod. “I promise I will. Just wanted to give you a word of advice. Feel free to take it or leave it.”

Perhaps against the will of House Gautier, Sylvain had taken up dark magic at Garreg Mach. He’d always brag about his one-on-one sessions with their professor (all building up to that dinner date, he claimed). But those meetings eventually showed results, as his spellcasting became on par with even Annette and Mercedes’ abilities. Despite his easygoing tone, he knew what he was talking about.

“I’m listening,” Dimitri grunts.

Sylvain’s eyebrows lift slightly before he begins. “You and I both went through the same lance training when we were kids. Had that ‘frontal assault’ mindset drilled into us. I can still see it when you fight.”

“Your point?”

“Magic can’t be directed so forcefully. Most of the channeling comes from internally steering the energy into a path it likes. Suggestion, rather than force. At least, that’s how Professor would tell me how to do it.”

“Suggestion…” He stretches his palm forward, taking care to put less power into the motion. A deep breath, and a tingling aura sparks again in his chest. It intimidates him, for a moment. He almost tries to subdue it on instinct, before cautiously guiding the energy to his hand. It blooms into a warm light. Dimitri’s motionless, watching every wave gently dissipate into the air.

“That’s it. There you go,” Sylvain says warmly.

He blinks. “Sylvain, I…”

A quick hand wave interrupts him. “Don’t thank me. I just repeated what Professor Byleth told me five years ago.”

“I see.” The mantle on his back suddenly seems heavier, and he shuffles it awkwardly.

Sylvain draws his left arm behind him and bows. “And with that, I’ll take my leave, Your Highness. I know how much I get on your nerves. I’d recommend the old student dormitories for practicing though. No one goes there during the day.”

Dimitri almost repeats himself, but settles for a brusque nod instead. “I appreciate it, whether or not it deserves my thanks.”

The bow quickly transforms into a cocky hand flick. “It’s nothing, Your Highness,” Sylvain laughs, walking away.

“After all, I’m just upholding my end of the bargain.” 

* * *

“Dimitri? Um, I mean, Your Highness!”

The years had been kind to Ashe, who now greeted him under a tight suit of wyvern armor. The gentle warmth of his eyes was still there, if only for a brief moment before seeing Dimitri.

“Either is fine,” he says, quickly finding a desk in the back corner of the room.

“Pardon my asking, but… are you here for the bishop certification exam?”

He nods, pulling out his quill. “And what are you doing here?”

Ashe subconsciously rubs his shoulder piece. “I was just wrapping up my own exam. I studied up on some wyvern riding techniques and thought I might as well. I wouldn’t worry too much about the test, Your Highness. Most of the certification is the physical demonstration, and I’m sure you’ve got that. Oh- guess I rambled for a bit.” He shakes his head before Dimitri can even respond. “My apologies for wasting your time.”

Ashe flinches at his hand raise. Gives another apology before Dimitri can even speak. No trace of a younger, stupidly optimistic Dimitri’s effort to get on even speaking terms. Pointless lip service in the end, but he strangely misses it.

He settles on a quick “I’ll keep that in mind”, turning his head away. This entire conversation was making him uncomfortable. Why was it that his attempts at secrecy were thwarted by every blasted human in the monastery?

Snap.

He glances at the desk and curses at the sight of mangled bits of feather. In his singular moment of anger, the quill had fractured at three different points. He’d snapped arms like this, but here…

“Ah… no worries, Your Highness!” Ashe’s words interrupt the oncoming haze of frustration. “You can borrow my quill for the exam.”

“You…” he mouths, frozen as a glossy owl feather is placed between his tense fingers. It’s delicate. Far too delicate for him to be holding.

“The monastery always seemed to be stingy on their writing utensils,” Ashe continues, “I’ve snapped a few myself.”

“I- I can’t take this.” 

“Well, you need something to take the exam with.” Equal parts stubborn and gentle. As if a beast could understand any of it. “And I’m grateful I could help you like this. So please, just take it.”

Dimitri rumbles awkwardly. “Do not expect to have it returned intact.”

“I’m just glad I could help, Your Highness. Taking an examination for a class within three days isn’t easy. And to do this to help our professor… well, I respect you for that.”

“This is for my benefit alone. For my selfish cause. Respect would be foolish.”

“I still have many other reasons to respect you, Your Highness.”

* * *

“My, I never expected you in those robes.”

He does not acknowledge Manuela’s entrance, merely turning away from the door. As if to ruin his point, the healer robes swish noisily with him.

Manuela is uncharacteristically silent afterwards, only skimming through a few notes on her desk. He takes this time to review the book one last time, mentally preparing himself to see his professor once again. He’s prepared for days, memorized every step by heart. If everything went according to plan, this would be over in minutes.

A deep breath, and it's still shaky.

He turns back around, and Manuela is gone. She must have slipped away while he was distracted. This wasn’t a good sign- he should’ve been able to sense her movements. He immediately stands up, clutching the book close to him. Any more thinking would merely make his condition worse.

As he leaves the room, he finds a note messily slapped to the door.

_ Infirmary Room 3. I believe in you. - Professor Manuela _

* * *

The first thing he notices is the silence.

As Dimitri stoops into the infirmary, he sees Byleth motionless on the cot. Her skin is deathly pale, with limp limbs splayed across the mattress. He doesn’t hear any breathing, which almost causes him to drop his book. But as he steps closer, he detects the faintest of inhalations. She’s still alive - but he doesn’t have much time. He removes the bandages on her stomach, and sees the infested wounds beneath.

Within seconds, the book is perched on the cot table. He sits awkwardly besides her, giant frame casting darkness. It’s only illuminated by his palm, glowing with white light as he starts the first spell.

The healing comes easily, and it instantly has an effect on the wound. Byleth remains still as white tendrils remove dead flesh around the claw marks. Dimitri takes another breath and begins the second step- creating the purging aura. Recalling every piece of advice given to him, he lets the energy course through him. A warm light bursts to life, and he cautiously brings it over to Byleth’s wound.

Yet the bloody red crevices remain.

“No! Why is it not working?” The aura fizzles away, his focus broken by his desperation. The sinister wound bubbles and hisses, taunting him. With sweaty palms, he turns back to the book. Page after page, filled with nothing but repetitive text. Useless, the lot of it.

He doesn’t stop until the first page rips. None of the information is getting through to him. He wouldn’t be able to do it. And Byleth would…

“No. No no no no…” he moans, cupping his face with trembling hands. “Not you too. I can’t…”

Within the darkness, a fire erupts. She smiles from within. Each desperate step he takes, the flames take her further away.

_ Dimitri… _

“Please,” he chokes, unable to look at her, “Do not haunt me. Not you too. I can’t help you. Don’t you understand? I must kill her. I must. That’s the only way… I can save them…”

_ I miss you. _

“I should’ve _ died _ in that fire with them!” Each syllable tears into him. Why did she not understand? Everything… everything up to this was never any living human. All a temporary hoax, a final wish before his deserved death. “Their wishes, I can fulfill. But yours… yours… I ask for mercy…”

“Dimitri. Please, if you would just look at me.”

The voice he hears is significantly more subdued than the one in the flames. Yet within its monotone, he can hear the slightest hint of worry.

“Professor!” His hands separate from his face, and the burning figure before him is replaced with Byleth, raising a limp hand towards him. The wrinkles on her face loosen. 

“Are you alright, Dimitri?” she asks, with wide eyes. Still so sharp, despite her decline. 

“You’re… you’re still alive…” He barely lisps the words, but she catches them all.

“Dimitri…”

A laugh. Then a maddened cackle. 

“I suppose you heard it all then! Everything you need to know about me,” he giggles, “The ramblings of the soulless monster before you!”

Byleth’s expression remains unchanged. She props herself against the bedstand. Her eyes pierce through his maddened speech. But it is not with scorn or pity.

“You need not live according to my wishes,” she states. 

“Professor!”

“It seems you might have been seeing me in your nightmares. Know that it is not my wish to see you become someone you are not. But do not call yourself a soulless monster when I can see the torment in your eyes.”

“...”

“You are a kind, empathetic man,” she continues, “I know how much the dead burden you because of it.” For the first time, she turns away. “I… have always envied you.”

“Envied me… but why?”

“Before coming here, I was infamous among the mercenaries. They called me the Ashen Demon. I would never feel anything in killing. It unsettled many - that I could strike down anyone without a second thought.”

“To hear your struggles at Garreg Mach was … surprising. Your hesitance at unfounded violence, your noble ideals for the kingdom… all of it. Things I thought I could never do. Things only a person like _ you _ could do.”

For the first time, Byleth’s lips curl into a smile. “But you proved your professor wrong. With the Blue Lions, with _ you_, I learned and experienced so much. And for that, I am eternally grateful.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Guilt bubbles from within.

“I hope that one day you will forgive yourself. That you will look in the mirror and see the phenomenal man I see before me. But until then, I promise the Blue Lions will support your cause.”

He chokes back an outburst of emotion. “I do not deserve such thoughts anymore.”

“The good will of friends is not deserved. It is given. And we all pledge it gladly.”

Byleth suddenly swerves, clutching her wound. Dimitri’s hands wander awkwardly around her. “It’s still…” he tries weakly.

The professor laughs. Dimitri’s heart plunges. “You’re right. We should probably take care of this first, shouldn’t we? Your spell did quite a lot- and I believe Rhea told me something that would help finish this.”

A hand, outstretched towards him. Byleth, not bathed in the sunrise light of the tower, but somehow still glowing. For the first time in years, Dimitri feels a strange twinge of peace.

“The spell will require the use of two people. I’ll handle the casting, but if you would…” Byleth looks away, cheeks flushing. The hand falls outside of his grasp. “But you wouldn’t be comfortable with it. I can call Manuela in…”

“I will,” he interrupts, much to both of their surprise. “I… will help you.”

Byleth’s smile grows wider, and she extends her palm once again. Allows his calloused, ravaged hand to clasp her own. Dimitri holds his breath as her small fingers intertwine with his. They’re so very delicate - small enough to be crushed in seconds. And yet Byleth is completely still. Trusting _ him_. 

“Thank you, Dimitri,” she whispers, right before she begins her incantation. 

Dimitri does not speak. There are no words to describe the warmth coursing through him, the gentleness of Byleth’s touch. There are no words to describe his anger, his fear, his shame.

And yet, his tears tell her enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I initially intended for this fic to be a canon-compliant episode... then I played past February in Three Houses and realized how none of this would fit in the timeline! Oops. Nevertheless, I felt super motivated to finish it, if only to cope with the feels of what happened in game. So here it is - perhaps a different look into how Dimitri could've started to resolve his inner demons.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed! For the singular overlapping person also reading my current WIP, I promise there'll be an update to that soon. Comments and kudos are welcome (spoiler-free is appreciated though)!


End file.
